The Grim Era
by SeekerAstria
Summary: A Death Scythe and a Shinigami, though not the one you might expect. Spirit and Kid have a conversation as the world quietly begins to fall apart.
1. Unbalance

Author – lmd84

Character/Parings - Death the Kid, Liz and Patty Thomson, Death Scythe, Shinigami

Genre – Gen, Introspective

A/N – First attempt at _Soul Eater_ fanfiction. Thought I'd take a stab at two of my favourite characters. Enjoy. I think I might have over-estimated the 'insanity wavelength', but the thought was fun to explore. The structure of the chapters is a little odd, thanks to me not planning it quite right. Kid would be unimpressed. I wanted to split the three sections.

Summary - A Death Scythe and a Shinigami, though not the one you might expect. Spirit and Kid have a conversation as the world quietly begins to fall apart. Spoilers for the 'Fight to the Death' chapters (chapters 14 through 23).

_The Grim Era_

Chapter 1 - Unbalance

_He hadn't noticed._ Liz yawned widely and risked a look at Death the Kid. Walking with a stately air towards his father's room, the boy seemed distracted, gazing dully ahead of him without really paying attention to the corridor the group was in. But what worried Liz more, right now, was that Kid had utterly failed to notice the single smudge of ink on his right shirt cuff. _Hell_, she berated herself silently, years with the obsessive shinigami had made her able to notice tiny things like that, even as bone-tired as she still was since the fight against Kishin just over a week ago.

"Heey, Kid!" Patty waggled a hand in front of Kid's face, "Cheer up!"

"Hmm? Oh, sorry. I was….miles away." Kid sighed coming abruptly to a halt in the otherwise empty corridor. A minutely misaligned portrait to the left of him, cuff still stained, he seemed a shadow of his usual self, so much so that the normally oblivious younger Thomson had noticed and was endeavouring to break his bleak mood.

Patty's eyes widened and she drew close to Kid. "Miles away _where_?" She grinned, giggling, "You've been like this since the mad-eyed thing attacked us!"

Kid flinched, not an unusual motion for someone acutely aware of the world's asymmetrical anomalies, but in this case the sisters felt his discomfort. In a single blow he had been thrown to the ground by a creature bound purely by Shinigami's power for almost a millennium. It was, in the scale of things, a crushing defeat, literally and otherwise.

Pain, fear, madness had gripped all three during the fight in that horrid basement, and Liz was certain that it would be a long while until the shadows of the vault would leave them completely. If at all. She and Patty weren't strangers to _difficult _circumstances, but this was the first time since they left the streets that they faced such dangerous odds with their powerful yet obsessive master by their sides. If they didn't watch out, next time Death the Kid would suffer more than just a ruined suit, flesh wounds and a concussion. Naturally, he had considered the former to be the most important, even complaining about it whilst being checked out in the infirmary. The whole mess had left the trio, Technician and Demon Pistols alike, troubled.

Patty wasn't sure why they were headed to visit Shinigami this early in the morning. Normally Kid's father contacted him if he wanted them to meet, causing Kid to go through his usual ritual of checking the angle of every piece of furniture, portrait and candle in the house before leaving. She wondered if Shinigami asked for Kid several hours before he needed to see him, because he knew just how long his son would take getting ready to leave. On this occasion, they hadn't been summoned. Kid had merely announced at breakfast that they were going to visit his father, and that was that. In mutual admiration and just a bit of awe, Patty and her big sister would follow Death the Kid anywhere.

They reached the huge double doors which led to the vivid, cloud-filled space that housed Shinigami's mirror. Kid reached up to push the doors open, only to pause and clench his hand into a fist. He cocked his head on one side, as though suddenly aware of something. He raised a ringed finger.

"Liz. Patty. Would you please leave me here, alone?"

Liz exchanged a glance with Patty, frowning at this sudden change of heart.

"You walked us all the way here to decide you want us to go?"

"I could be in bed!" Patty wailed, only to receive a kick on the ankle from Liz. "Quiet." the elder girl hissed, "Just…go with it, okay?"

Both turned to Kid with almost identical amiable expressions.

"Sure. We'll see you at home, right?" Liz just knew Kid could tell she was forcing the smile. Spoiled and occasionally slow he might be, but he had come to understand something of his Weapons' methods of dealing with his eccentricities. Right now, she wanted Kid to deal with whatever it was that had been bothering him since the episode with Kishin and Medusa. And if that meant leaving him on his own for a bit, well, then Liz would have to deal with that herself.


	2. Disorder

Chapter 2 - Disorder

Perfection. Symmetry. A human philosopher had once deduced that order was beauty. It was one of the few tenants of human thought that Death the Kid thought valid; many didn't believe in the soul, for goodness sake. Equality in all things was surely the path towards an orderly and therefore peaceful world. For years he had lived in such a place, progressing through his life according to his desire to have perfection in all things: the perfect weapons, the perfect skills with which to meet the criteria of his father's and his own chosen Weapons. But ever since he'd made the decision to enrol in Shibusen, things had started to go wrong. The first day had been a prime example of this, involving the stupidity of a Scythe and an incompetent Technician, leaving Kid – he grimaced at the memory – lacking part of his fringe.

Kid sighed as he let the double doors close behind him, and he walked down the archway-lined path. Truthfully, he didn't know why he was here. Because he felt he'd failed his father in being unable to stop Kishin's resurrection? Because he _knew _there was only so much he could have done? Right and left, all around him the ruins of the basement had repulsed Death the Kid, turning his stomach to even look at the, the _chaos_ which had gripped Shibusen, and had caused him to attack a mirage in a moment of insanity. The maddening wavelength of Asura's soul would only increase its hold on the world so long as the first Kishin was alive and free to roam. Ironically enough, Kid knew, the seal put in place to bind him originally was now preventing his father's swift destruction of Asura. If he concentrated – and it didn't take much effort – Kid could sense the madness lying latent and silent in the background of the city. Almost every soul was prey for Asura's brutal wavelength. Wherever he might be now, surely Kishin Asura would relish the effect his freedom was having on Death City. He had even had the power, the sheer _audacity_ to attack Shinigami! And injure him. The thought made Kid feel sick. Until that fateful, despicable night it seemed nothing had been beyond his father's vast power, and the world had seemed so much smaller. Neater, too, for that matter.

Well, Kid would not let that stand. He was a shinigami, after all, and it was his duty to uphold the laws of death and peace in his father's name. He approached the tall mirror where his father often resided. It was curiously empty, reflecting only Death the Kid himself. How apt, he thought. Sighing again, he reached out a finger to touch the mirror to let his father know someone was in his room.

"Don't bother."

Kid spun around, having been so wrapped up in his own concerns that he'd failed to notice he was not alone. To one side of the mirror, a tall figure was lying down, legs crossed, staring somewhat vacantly into the endless parade of crosses which surrounded the area. It was Spirit Albarn, Death Scythe; _the_ Death Scythe, to be precise.

"Why not? I wanted to speak with father."

"Yeah, well, he's out. Gone to talk to Yumi and Justin about something."

"The boundary. He wants to check the city limits." Kid answered without thinking, then wondering how he knew the answer. Spirit turned to look up at him.

"Yes…how'd you guess that?" He looked surprised.

"I think I just…knew it. Why didn't you tell me?" Kid was affronted. Spirit waved a hand vaguely, "Simple. Your dad told me not to let you know. Thought you'd be better off not thinking about this Kishin mess until it was necessary. And frankly, I agree."

"Death Scythe, I might be a child but I am a _shinigami_, I have right to-"

Standing up, the red-haired man raised his eyebrows, grinning broadly. "You think it's that? Ooh, you're a proud boy. You're thinking like Death. Death himself is thinking like a father."

Kid scowled and looked away, caught between loyalty towards his father and, the man was right, pride at his position.

Kid looked at the clouds and crosses in front of him. None were especially symmetrical, far from it. That cross on the left was _completely_ lopsided, and the less said about the white clouds the better. After a moment, he heard Death Scythe clear his throat, obviously trying to get his attention.

"He should have told me." Kid insisted, a little sulkily and without bothering to turn around. "It's because of what happened in the basement, isn't it? He can't trust me. I could not focus because of those blasted – pillars – it was. My. Fault." Stumbling over his words and breathing hard, Death the Kid spun around to face Spirit, suddenly feeling the wavelength of madness lap and grasp at the edges of his own soul.

"Hey, hey, take it easy, all right?" Spirit took a step backwards, wary of what the anxious shinigami, even a young one, might do. For a startling moment he saw dark energy flash and crackle around Kid's body as though his anger and fear were making themselves violently known. The Death Scythe knew better than to get on the wrong side of that kind of power, but right now was more worried about the boy wielding it. To have lost his temper over something so small that wasn't to do with symmetry…

Spirit held up his hands in what he hoped was a calming way, also wishing that Shinigami would choose that moment to come back, sing-song greeting and all. "This wasn't your fault, Kid. You are absolutely _not_ to blame for Kishin getting out."

"But…" Kid faltered, terror crossing his face, eyes glinting an eerie yellow as Spirit kept his own eyes on him. Kid raised his hands to his face, squeezing his eyes shut as memories of the awakening washed over him. He sighed and lowered his head, muttering weakly, "I should have done more".

Death Scythe blinked slowly, trying to sense the soul near him. There was no way Kid could have been snatched from calm rationality into Asura's madness from the faint wavelength alone, which meant he must have been disturbed by it for a time, most likely since the night of the resurrection. Kid's soul, bright and vivid in the Weapon's mind, was unmistakably that of a death god, having the intense energy of his father's at a fraction of the size. The silvery orb shivered with uncertainty, a normally calm mind (obsessions aside) jarred cruelly by the surrounding atmosphere of insanity which lingered even here, in Shinigami's domain.

Spirit had nothing close to Stein's ability to analyse the contents of a person's soul, but was adept enough to realise what was before him; a shinigami, a frightened child. Honestly, he couldn't blame Death the Kid one bit. And he could hardly leave the boy to wallow in fitful despair until his father returned. Great, he was hardly any use talking to his _own_ child, let alone anyone else's; most of the students dismissed him as the weird man who just happened to be the Weapon of the Shinigami. Death Scythe was glad that Kid couldn't see the brief grimace he made as he gathered the courage to say something, anything that might provide scant comfort.

"It's not all bad, you know." Okay. That was a start of sorts, expressing a kind of vague optimism.

"You think not? You've felt the wavelength. It's _disgusting_, and few in the city know what it can _really_ do." Kid growled, clenching and unclenching his fists in growing agitation. "Patty called Asura that 'mad-eyed thing' this morning. She'll be seeing nothing but if it attacks her soul, stripping her of sanity and….everything else." The boy was unable to speculate it would kill his Weapon and friend.

Spirit opened his mouth to speak, but Kid continued, "You've seen it starting to attack the soul of that doctor friend of yours, haven't you?" He demanded, "You've seen what that sadistic human is capable of, fought Medusa herself, and you're trying to tell me this isn't bad!?"

Kid was inches from Spirit now and it was all the Weapon could do not to pull back from the soul wavelength so close to his; fierce, cold and above all terrified. Clearly there were downsides to being so attuned to soul wavelengths you sensed things close to you without meaning to, especially when it was a soul feeling _quite_ ready to destroy (and it would surely be destruction) any perceived threat. Instead, he looked the boy in the eye once more, and asked; "Just…calm down for a moment. Think. I've seen you fight almost as much as your father has. You're not reckless, not when it matters, not when your brain's free from all that symmetrical stuff. What do you _know_ about Kishin?"

Placing his hands together with symmetrical accuracy, Kid smirked, a sinister look only compounded by his two-tone hair and bright eyes.

"You want to know what I understand about Kishin? Chaos. That's what Kishin – all of them – mean. Chaos, and madness, and violence. These actions and effects pervade every space in the world but are at their most destructive and sinister when they are manifest in the demon gods, souls consumed by the evils of _total _annihilation and greed. They will unbalance the world!" Everything will be…lost!"

"Hmm. Maybe. Except, you've forgotten one thing." Spirit had listened calmly to Kid's nihilistic little speech, and now smiled slightly.

"What?" Kid scowled, unconvinced, and was replied by the Death Scythe promptly poking him on the forehead.

"You, you daft kid-"

"_Not_ funny."

Spirit ignored this, continuing, "You and your father. The Shinigami maintains the balance between life and death, chaos and order, good and evil, all of those…relationships." He waved a hand vaguely, rather than going into an exhaustive list.

Kid had begun to distractedly brush minute and possibly non-existent dust off his jacket sleeves, but now he rounded on Spirit, glaring.

"Purpose isn't enough! A Shinigami's duty alone wasn't enough to keep Asura bound, or prevent that vile brute from attacking _my father_!" Kid's voice was raised to a desperate shout.

The present father's smile of satisfaction faded into a more sympathetic look. He patted Kid a little awkwardly on the shoulder. "You worry too much. So does he, for that matter. You should have seen Shinigami the first time you went on a mission in the city with your girls. I didn't get to bed for hours because he was convinced something would go wrong and we'd have to bail you out. Hypocrite…" He muttered, thinking of Maka's first attempt at a witch's soul.

"He's impossible, sometimes." Kid rolled his eyes so as not to show his slight embarrassment at the idea of being saved by his own father. There were some things a twelve year-old god shouldn't have to suffer, and it wasn't like he'd _meant_ to destroy that bridge. It was probably structurally unsound before the Death Cannon hit it. It certainly was afterwards. "But stick to the point. Neat and tidy."

"Well, if you insist…" Spirit was a little put out; he'd hoped a sort of 'what annoys us about Shinigami' talk would turn the conversation onto a lighter tone. But, alas, the little god was determined to work something out of this Kishin mess.

Kid stalked over to face the tall mirror, running one hand over the smooth glass surface. Standing straight and tall but with a look of contemplation, he suddenly strongly reminded Spirit of his father; black and white, life and death, and everything in between. It was often hard to believe that father and son were not as human as the people whose souls they guided to the afterlife.

The boy's reverie was broken by a sharp metallic sound. Kid didn't even twitch as a long blade whistled past his face, twisting upwards until the sheer black surface showed Kid's face and that of its owner, both reflections contorted by the curve of the metal.

"Instinct, huh? I can relate to that." Spirit smiled. "We've all got our parts to play, here, now Kishin's awake. We keep the order – and – the – balance." He punctuated each word by moving his blade-arm, slashing through the air with expert precision. Whatever point he was trying to make, Kid was pretty sure he was partly showing off. Even so, he felt a strange stab of envy at Spirit's satisfaction, feeling disappointment that he didn't appreciate his own nature and instincts in the same way, founded as they were on the fundamentals of existence; life, and the proper way to end it.

Kid looked at the Death Scythe's expression, now both joyful and a little unpleasant as though he was taking a bit too much enjoyment out of the partial transformation. He was, after all, a Weapon forged to kill and the most lethally efficient of all the Shinigami's Death Scythes. It was easy to forget this fact, Kid mused, when Maka's father spent most of the time seeming at best harmless and at worst pathetic.

"You shouldn't underestimate your dad. Whatever you heard about the Kishin fight, it was nothing but a scratch to him, I reckon. He's been around longer than any of us, longer even than Asura. He knows this world and its people." And in one way or another eventually all of them get to meet him, Death Scythe added silently with a smirk.

"He's been cut off from most of them for eight hundred years." Kid pointed out bluntly.

"It doesn't matter. Death itself is as old as the world, and there are some things which never change. Back when your father was the Grim Reaper humanity _really_ feared, there wasn't a soul on earth beyond his reach. Everything that lives, dies – all neatly. That fits your aesthetics, doesn't it?"

For the first time in a while, a smile crept onto Death the Kid's face. "Yes, it does. But you don't need to give me a history lesson, Death Scythe. As you've already pointed out, I'm a shinigami. I was born knowing these things. The perfect inherent order of…every soul in the world…" He paused at this moment of realisation, of remembrance, holding his hand out in front of him, staring into the infinite distance of clouds and crosses against a blue sky. Perhaps, yes, there was an order to things…

As though having come to some silent, mutual conclusion, Death Scythe and shinigami sat down side by side in front of the mirror. After a moment the surface flickered and their reflections were replaced by a scene near the southern gates of Death City, revealing Shinigami talking with Justin Law. Spirit raised an eyebrow at Kid, who shrugged and said, "Well, _I_ want to keep an eye on _him_ sometimes. Hey, get off, you'll spoil my hair!" He protested as Spirit ruffled his white stripes, grinning at the rare show of concern for the often difficult Shinigami.

Spirit knew he was being optimistic and calm for Kid's sake, but he was no fool. He knew it wasn't much, this brief moment of calm in a sea of growing chaos, but it was a start.


	3. Dissonance

A/N – Well, apparently I fail at planning once I get a fic idea into my head. Chapter 3 of 4.

Chapter 3 – Dissonance

"It's gone."

"Huh?"

They had been sitting in silence for a while, and now Kid spoke. Spirit turned to see that he had his eyes closed, brow creased in concentration.

"After father told me about Kishin Asura, I tried to sense his presence in the school. It was there; suppressed, but definitely beneath us. I believe only father and I could have been aware of it before the resurrection."

Spirit considered this for a moment, before conceding the young shinigami was right.

"Probably. But it's hardly gone, now, is it, the soul wavelength? It's just _everywhere_."

"Precisely. Asura himself has escaped, meaning that his wavelength is no longer centred on Death City. I suppose this should be taken as a small victory for us." But the grim expression on Kid's face told Spirit that he thought this fact anything but victorious.

"There is little to be done. All shall fall into ruin unless Asura is permanently destroyed. There is no place on this earth for those who threaten the balance of life and death. There never was, nor will there ever be."

He laughed, then, a light sound that made Spirit shiver. It was an abrupt change from even a few minutes ago when the boy seemed calmer than he had been, almost content. Yet the former Weapon of Franken Stein knew better than to presume anything about a person affected by the insanity wavelength. Now the kid was starting to try Spirit's patience.

"You're going to keep this up, aren't you?" He challenged, "You think spreading this sort of doom and gloom around is going to help matters? Kishin, chaos, the violence that comes with them is _exactly_ why Shibusen exists. We teach children who have the ability to face would-be kishin how to deal with them. They do the work that _your father_ had been doing for centuries before Asura turned on him."

Cursing under his breath, the Death Scythe stood up, sticking his hands in his pockets in his usual slouch, "You stood here not five minutes ago telling me duty wasn't enough, but maybe you should remember your own responsibilities before giving the world up to some apocalypse. What kind of example are you setting girls like Liz and Patty, huh, if you tell them the world's falling apart?!"

Even before he'd finished speaking, Spirit knew he had over-stepped a mark. He'd never dare to challenge Shinigami in such a way, mostly because behind all the casual jollity the man was pretty astute and had a wicked temper, but even with the angst-ridden tirades of his young son there were things you just didn't _say_ to a death god. There were only two people who were likely to see any apocalypse from the _outside_ and one of them was currently trying to talk to a boy with earphones permanently attached to his ears.

Kid stood up gracefully, affecting not to have heard Spirit's argument.

"If the world were to fall apart, it would hardly be the first time." He whispered in a voice that was cold and harsh, a tone quite unlike anything Spirit had before heard from the boy. He occasionally seemed standoffish in his effort to persevere prefect dignity, but this was something else entirely. Just _how_ badly had the wavelength gotten to him?

"You spoke of my father as the Grim Reaper. One feared by the human world. It was once an apt description. The Grim times, an era where father dispensed nothing less than absolute justice to those who defied the lore of nature."

"'Justice'? He destroyed them mercilessly. Surely you know that?" Spirit queried softly, genuinely curious about this murky area of his Technician's past but stepping away from the boy who, with his head bowed had suddenly shrouded himself in macabre shadows that twisted violently at his feet. So much for making him feel better, somehow things were now escalating in the wrong direction.

Kid turned to Spirit, and the skull-like shadows now surrounding his body calmed. No, not just calm. There was something almost predatory in his composure. Albarn was being watched by the death god. Under the gaze of those odd yellow eyes, Spirit felt as though every inch of his soul was being coolly examined. There was an element of his father's temper there, as well as a fraction of that god's power. Spirit weighed up the possibility of Kid knowing how to employ those eerie shadows as the weapons his father was so proficient with. It didn't look good.

If this anxiety was just that, then Kid could still be rational; this was nothing more than a philosophical temper tantrum from a child who felt slighted by his father. On the other hand, if he was witnessing a soul succumbing to madness, Spirit knew he'd have no chance if Kid decided to attack. He'd be dead before he could even transform. There would be no argument, no raised voices or trite analogies that could quiet things now. _Well, damn, I think I've messed the poor brat up worse than he was already_. _Shinigami's going to _kill_ me. Kinda, anyway…_

--

He should be calm here, shouldn't he? One of Kid's earliest memories was of standing in this illusory space where the great mirror stood, of being at his father's side taking tentative steps through the field of crosses that each marked a human life. But then the sky had been bright and inviting, a sense of space brought into small room at one side of the School. A single image of the future for the death god who would one day see humanity reach its end. Now, in Kid's mind's eye it was as though night was approaching, the sky turning to deep orange and reds as an invisible sun set. A crimson twilight had fallen over the Death Room, and it was the colour of the soul of every Kishin to walk the earth in insanity and blood-shed.

Dimly aware of the Death Scythe's presence beside him, the shinigami boy chose to ignore it, instead gazing out into the field. But no matter how far he looked, how much he perceived, Kid knew the view would be the same: death after death upon the desolate, barren lands. Was this the future the world had to look forward to? A grim era, indeed, and Death would be a fool to think otherwise. Broken pillars were only the start, and somewhere in the depths of Kid's soul a dark thought lingered; _Symmetry, perfection: it will never be enough. _

Another irony of the human world, perhaps, that the only harmony possible was in the absolute chaos that threatened to grip the world. Here, wrapped in his own thoughts and surrounded by visions of what could be – surely the product of Kid's own fears as much as Asura's madness – the choice was straightforward. Between the simplicity of chaos and the purity of order: each, in their own way, was symmetrical. Kid had once told a servant of the Kishin that he cared not for 'good' and 'evil', no justice but order alone. For as long as he could remember, Death the Kid had been treading the fine line between symmetry and disarray. Never had he felt so drawn to the precipice edge… Never had chaos felt so alluring… Kid took a step forward, only to stop. His eyes snapped open and the red sky vanished, replaced by the Death Room itself.

The first thing Kid was aware of was pain, and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He had had bitten his lip so hard it had begun to bleed. The realisation was enough to call the young god back to his senses and notice two things: firstly that there was an ink stain on his shirt; secondly, that Death Scythe was a few feet away, staring at him with a mixture of concern and, to Kid's surprise, fear. The man raised a hand warily;

"Your father's coming back…which is _probably_ a good thing."

Spirit managed a weak smile, gaze sweeping over the boy as though expecting to be attacked at any moment. Kid grimaced, not caring that Albarn saw him do so, suddenly recalling what he'd done. Normally, he was especially careful not to display his more….unusual abilities around the school for fear of alienating the other students. And to have lost control, however briefly, scared Kid more than he wanted to admit. He suddenly felt exhausted, weary in mind and body and more than willing to simply go home. This morning, he had been unsure he wanted to face his father. Now Kid was _certain_ he didn't want to. He opened his mouth to give the Weapon an apology, but no words came to mind.

Hanging his head in abject defeat, the boy turned and began to walk past Death Scythe. Feeling the man's hand upon his shoulder Kid would have ignored it had he not felt a presence behind him. Turning, he saw a figure in the mirror. Upon seeing Shinigami's large form, both faintly imposing and somewhat comical, few people could read an expression on the blank mask or unwieldy hands – such as they were. But Kid had grown up with this eccentric image of a parent, and could read the death god better than most. Right now, with head on one side and hands outspread, his expression was one of exasperation with his gaze fixed on his son.

"Spirit, Spirit why didn't you tell me Kid was here?" The Shinigami asked.

"Um. Technically I did, sir, just now? I did tell him where you were, and he was kind of upset. I, uh, kind of think I made things worse. So…." Spirit tailed off, gesturing mutely between father and son, evidently having come to the end of his ability to deal with paternal gods and their distressed offspring. On any other day, the son in question would have been quietly amused by the sight of the tall man in the suit acting for all the world like a chastised school-boy.

Shinigami exited the mirror, fading into existence in the room. One white hand swatted casually at his Weapon's head. Death Scythe didn't even bother to duck, more than accustomed to his Technician's odd physical reprimands for whatever he decided, at that moment, to be unacceptable behaviour. Honestly, Spirit was relieved the god was back to deal with Kid himself. If his father didn't, the boy looked liable to lose it completely. He wasn't sure what had snapped Kid out of his bleak, fierce trance (nor whether he wanted to know). So, the Scythe had done the only thing he could think of and called for Kid's dad, even though tuning into Shinigami's massive wavelength so hastily tended to give him a headache. Shinigami put his hands together, as though deciding on something. "Death Scythe, I believe the paperwork on the new assignments is in and needs to be checked?" He queried. Nodding, Albarn took this as his cue to leave, and mentally crossed his fingers that Shinigami would get farther with Kid than Spirit himself had managed.


	4. Harmony

A/N - Final chapter, at last. Shinigami tries to help. Kid tries to understand. Asura would delight in the space between the two. In the end, there are no answers.

Chapter 4 – Harmony

"I am sorry."

Kid had been hoping his father would have some urgent need to speak with Death Scythe. That would provide him with the perfect excuse to return to the refuge of the mansion, large enough for him to avoid Liz and Patty for a few hours. It had been a while since he'd cleaned the basement. But now he found himself under the black but nevertheless piercing gaze of the Shinigami.

And of all the words Kid had expected from his honourable father – a merry preamble about positivity being the top of his list – an apology had not been one of them.

"What?" Kid replied, abruptly and sharper than he intended. Shinigami waved a hand, and a familiar high-backed chair appeared neatly behind Kid. Grateful, the boy more or less collapsed into it. Out of habit more than anything else, he clasped his hands neatly on his lap, gazing fixedly at a spot just to the right of his father's hand, unable to look him in the eye.

"I am sorry." Shinigami repeated, still calm, still standing, "Things have been tricky this past week, but that is no excuse for not noticing that you were having…difficulties."

The tone and manner told Kid that Shinigami was aiming for a serious conversation, but his son was in no mood to be forthcoming.

"You should not apologise. I rather think the Kishin's escape is of infinitely more concern than me. Medusa betrayed you and you had to deal with the consequences. It is entirely logical and proper." He stated tersely.

Shinigami laughed softly, reminding Kid of his reaction to the 'extra lesson' that was as cruel as it was necessary.

"Kid, if that was what you truly believed, you would not be here, yes? You, who rarely voices his true concerns to people he is unfamiliar with, would not have confided in Death Scythe. Who, incidentally, was extremely worried for you."

"He shouldn't have been. It's not his concern."

"There are three, no, _five_ crosses in here I'm going to have to repair and unless I am quite mistaken Spirit was under the impression you were, with that temper of yours, about to damage _him_ next."

"He told you that?"

"He didn't need to." Shinigami tapped his mask pointedly "It was all over his wavelength. You must have pulled off quite the performance to scare him so badly." Kid remembered the look of fear on Death Scythe's face when he'd finally regained control over himself, and couldn't help but feel guilty.

"I saw…" He began, hesitant, a rare thing in his father's presence. Shinigami took this opening to conjure a chair for himself and sat opposite Kid, waiting.

"Chaos. Everywhere. The whole world in blood and destruction. No light. No hope." He waved an arm outwards, indicating the expansive Death Room. Kid swallowed hard, all too aware of the wavelength around him, around the whole world. Shinigami sighed and put his head on one side.

"That's not true, you know. It might seem overwhelming, but it is not so."

Kid flinched, for this sort of assurance was no better than Spirit's attempt. Shinigami read his reaction.

"Do you know _why_ I founded Shibusen?"

Kid squinted up at his father, considering this a rather pointless question under the circumstances.

"In order protect humanity from the threat of the demon gods."

"Correct. Neat and tidy, as to be expected from you!"

Kid got the impression he was being smiled at, but did not share his father's glee at giving the appropriate answer. It was basic knowledge every citizen of Death City knew, even if they had never been a student at the Technicians' school.

"That was your purpose yet…you _lied_ to us about to. Lied to me. To all of them."

"It was necessary, Kid. Had I been honest from the start my school would have failed before it even begun. Had I not attempted to create a peaceful climate in this city, Shibusen would not be half the force it is today, maintaining order throughout the world.

As I say, we must live happily-"

"With a sense to _kill_."

"You disagree, Kid? Kid…?" Shinigami was puzzled, then alarmed at the blank expression on his son's face, consumed once again by his own anxiety, enhanced as it was by the taint of Asura's soul. Ideologies would have to wait, as Shinigami realised this mess might require a more direct approach. His personal intentions aside, there was something else going on here…

Kid finished off Shinigami's little motto harshly, hanging his head as the words caused him to recollect his futile attempts at preventing Asura's awakening. He had put every ounce of his not inconsiderable strength into destroying or delaying the frog-witch and the werewolf. Yet all was in vain. He, an incarnation of death itself, had been unable to succeed. The blasted wolf aside, the witch was only _mortal_.

Kid found himself chewing on his bottom lip, causing it to bleed slightly once again as his panic rose. He knew the answer, but it hovered out of his grasp, he knew that a fight for balance was inevitable. He of all people should understand inevitabilities. In a very broad sense, he _was _one. His thoughts and actions both revolved without reaching any conclusion. This time, though the small, sharp pain did nothing to bring him to his senses. Having been knocked out by Asura, he had awoken with the taste of blood in his mouth and his head ringing with the insanity wavelength. Physically, he had left the vault and its damned asymmetry. But in his mind, Death the Kid was still there, rendered aimless and powerless in the accursed room.

The eyes of Shinigami's mask turned down in anguish as he watched his son. When Spirit had contacted him, Shinigami had hoped that his frequently over-emotional Weapon was exaggerating. Unfortunately, this seemed not to be the case, as Kid seemed now to be drawn by the insanity wavelength into some chaotic reverie of blood and darkness. Having a soul-perception ability far above that of most humans, Shinigami cursed Asura as he watched his child battle subconsciously with the memories of the resurrection, and with its aftermath, the circumference of his soul's wavelength twisting noticeably. Shinigami made a mental note to make Asura pay for this torment. The fact Shinigami had not felt such fury, such a desire for destruction, in centuries until the night of the ball had done nothing to dull those emotions in him when he was facing his former comrade above Death City.

In his seat, Kid's gaze twitched from one side to the other as though following something Shinigami could not see. This would not do. It was the nature of humans and gods alike to feel fear, anger, and emotional pain. Yet to indulge in or become suffocated by them was the path of a kishin, and was to be avoided at all costs. And a god had more responsibilities in the world than most.

With a sigh, Shinigami lifted a white hand, and brought it down edge first onto the top of his son's head. He had never struck Kid in anger, and didn't intend to start now. But sometimes actions spoke louder than words, and Shinigami felt the blow communicate something of his own soul wavelength – stable despite its size – into his son's beleaguered one.

The specific technique was not the sort of thing Shinigami had normally taught at Shibusen. The headmaster held that it would have students injuring one another more than was strictly acceptable in the business of training a group of warriors. Kid slumped forward in the chair, eyes crossing. His fingers jerked spasmodically before he clutched his head in pain. The discomfort did its job, however, as from Shinigami's perspective Kid's wavelength shuddered with the violent intrusion before stabilising just slightly. Now, Kid looked right up at his father, now his gaze was sharp with a clarity it had lacked for days.

--

To some extent, Kid had always been attuned to his father's soul wavelength. Firstly, they were of the same kind as father and son, and secondly he had spent much of his childhood inside Death City, well within the circumference of Shinigami's soul. Having been born with the ability to perceive souls, the young Death had grown accustomed to the pervasive presence of his father out of a matter of necessity more than anything else. Getting Shinigami Chopped by him was _not_ something Kid was familiar with. Feeling as though his very skull was rattling at the blow, Kid cursed silently with his hands clamped over his head. But, however eccentric his father's methods were, they seemed to have worked. Yet again.

Almost instantaneously, the insanity wavelength that had so plagued Kid for days faded into the background. Kid relished the sublime relief, and felt more than a little pride at the thought that Asura, a so-called 'demon god', was forced to succumb even temporarily to the power of death's own soul. Kid had a headache, but he decided it was a small price to pay.

"Feeling better?" Shinigami asked him cheerily, mood brightened by Kid's expression. He gave no outward indication that the strike could have done more harm than good, and indeed only worked at all because their souls were so similar.

"You hit me, father." Kid pointed out, matter-of-fact. "But, yes, I do feel slightly…clearer. Thank-you." The young shinigami bowed respectfully, his physical tension showing in the movement. Shinigami reached over and placed a hand on Kid's head in an awkward gesture of affection.

"Honestly, how many times have I told you there's no need for that?" He muttered softly, perhaps feeling the need to emphasise that this was no time for cold formality. Kid said nothing, for his attitude towards his father was an old habit and not one he sought to change, no matter what the Shinigami said.

They were quiet for a moment. Kid had never been one to openly express fear or upset to his father, which was why his hesitant explanation had alerted Shinigami to the severity of the situation. Now, the father was content to watch his son as he calmed down, his soul wavelength losing much of the tension that from this distance Shinigami could tell had built up over days and nights of worry.

"You realise that is temporary? I repelled the effect of Asura's wavelength from you for the time being, but it will return, and sooner than I'd like. I…can't help that, I'm afraid." He admitted apologetically. "It is in the nature of Asura's insanity to seep into the minds and souls of every living thing. Even us."

"How, then, can Shibusen maintain harmony?" Kid wondered about a lasting question, but it was from curiosity alone for his voice carried nothing of the cynicism he'd earlier expressed.

Shinigami stood up and walked over to the mirror. Kid followed as he had done many times before.

"We maintain it in _ourselves_: in our actions, in our feelings, in how we deal with them both. Harmony, Kid, has the same source in life on earth as chaos does."

Shinigami reached out, and put one hand on Kid's chest. The boy sighed and briefly put one hand over his father's in a silent show of appreciation.

"My soul. It seems so…simple. Neat."

This time, though, Kid _felt_ it, as though his father's intervention had lifted a deathly shroud from his mind and soul. He had felt numb, and now he felt if not fully alive, but more focussed. And in Kid's mind it was the best way to be. For now, and for however long this feeling would last. Maybe he could try to return to his daily life. Maybe.

Again there was the sense Shinigami was smiling at Kid. "I _thought_ you might say so!"

"It _is_ a neat paradigm." Kid agreed with a vigour that delighted Shinigami, though he did not interrupt. "Both of us exist to ensure death. Your Technicians, your Death Scythes," Here he reminded himself he owed Spirit an apology "all work together, each in harmony with their own souls. _That_ is perfection of a sort."

The boy's eyes seemed to shine with the moment of epiphany. It was a small realisation, transient and all too easy to disrupt, but it was there. And for the moment, Shinigami knew, it was all his son needed. He had reinforced the principles he knew so well, as Spirit had attempted, because it was all Shinigami could do for his son.

Neither Shinigami nor Death Scythe could had given Death the Kid miraculous understanding, nor a lasting sense of peace, for there was none to be found. All Shinigami could give, all any of them could cling onto as Asura's madness raged was a way to cope, a path to follow in this much-changed world. Even as they headed for a new kind of grim era.

The End


End file.
